And then I saw Vlad.

Slowly, his eyes came up from behind the screen. “What?”

I felt a smile playing at the edge of my lips. “She’ll talk to you.”

“What?” Pike asked.

I stopped, excitement building in my chest. “She’ll talk to Vlad. He’s young, he’s charming,” I said and glanced at Pike. “He’s not you. She’ll open up to him.”

Pike looked over at Vlad and then back at me. “No offense to your nephew, but do you really think a girl who just lost her sister to murder is going to suddenly go all boy crazy for him?” He jerked a thumb toward Vlad, and threw in a, “No offense, bro,” for good measure.

“Well, Vlad’s got—” I paused, biting my tongue before I said the word glamours. A glamour is almost like a vampire pheromone; it attracts humans to us like bees to honey and once they find us . . . well, humans tend to become utterly entranced and allow us to eat them. Usually.

If you don’t adhere to UDA guidelines.

Glamours are strictly forbidden according to the UDA-V charter but I am almost completely sure that a glamour for solving a homicide was a way lesser charge than a glamour for committing a homicide. And either way, I’d rather be beheaded by the UDA than spend eternity in a prison cell and an orange jumpsuit.

“I mean Vlad’s got charm.” I turned toward him and threw on my best version of adorably irresistible Disney eyes. “Please, Vlad. For me?”

Vlad looked up, eyed me warily. “No.”

I crossed the room in two short strides and batted my lashes again. “Pweeze?”

He shook his head.

I tossed a quick glance over my shoulder, then laid my palm flat on the table, a quarter-inch from Vlad’s hand.

“Look,” I said, my voice low and dripping with heat. “I made you, Louis.” Vlad didn’t regard me visually, but I could see a stiffness run through his spine as I regarded him by his real, pre-vamp, pre-Count-Chocula-obsession name. “And I will be the first one to take you out.”

“Can’t. UDA bylaw.” There was an edge of teenage smugness in his words that made me want to kill him just a little bit more.

“Fine,” I said, crossing my arms in front of my chest. “I won’t kill you.” I snatched my cell phone from where it rested on the counter. “But Kale will.”

Vlad stood up so quickly his chair thunked to the ground behind him. “Fine!” he said, terror cutting through his eyes. “Just please,” he continued, holding up both hands as if the phone were about to spit bullets. “Whatever you do, don’t call Kale. Please.”

Now I was smug.

Pike looped an arm over the back of the couch as he turned to stare at us. “Who’s this—”

“Never mind,” Vlad and I said in unison.

I pushed Vlad toward the door. “Come on. Just go over there. Ask her for coffee.”

“I don’t feel good about this,” Vlad said, pulling on his collar.

“You’re doing a good thing,” I said, patting him lightly on the shoulder. “You saw the way Nicolette lit up when you introduced yourself.”

Vlad glared down at me and Pike piped in, “Besides, it’s just coffee.” His grin was wide and genuine and I melted just a tiny bit, barely even registering the fact that he could very well be a homicidal maniac.

I had Vlad in a vice grip and the doorknob in my hand when Pike grabbed my shoulder, his hand warm and heavy. “Wait,” he said, “do we have some kind of plan?”

I whirled. “Of course we do. Vlad goes out with Nicolette, asks some questions, gains some intel about whether or not Emerson has some horrid, murderous people in her immediate past—”

Vlad opened his mouth and I shot him a very loving but very deathly gaze.

“And then he relays it back to us. We find said murderous people and voila! Off the hook.”

“Sounds awfully simple,” Pike said skeptically.

“Don’t worry, it won’t be,” Vlad answered.

Pike and I sat in an uncomfortable silence while Vlad left the apartment. When an acceptable amount of time had passed—about thirty seconds—I sprinted toward the front door and pushed my nose through the crack that Vlad had left open. He was in the hallway and had just knocked on Nicolette’s door.

“What’s happening?” Pike came up behind me, his chest pressing up against my back, his hands resting on my hips. I wanted to grind into him, to toss him to the couch, to experience something other than this constant edginess and suspicion.

But Nicolette opened the door.

She was red-eyed and pink-nosed, her hair pulled back in a sloppy ponytail. She immediately straightened up when she saw who her caller was.

I felt Pike lean closer to me, his lips a hairsbreadth from my ear as he leaned down, his breath warm against the marble cold of my neck. “Damn. She asked him in.”

“That’s a good sign, though.” I tiptoed—sheerly for effect—weightless, remember?—across the hall and pressed my ear lightly to Nicolette and Emerson’s apartment door.

“He’s asking her to coffee,” I whispered over my shoulder. “She said ‘okay, how about in five minutes.’ Oh, crap.” I ran back across the hall, smacking chest-to-warm-carved chest into Pike and may or may not have held the stance for a longer-than-appropriate moment. I felt Pike’s arms go around me, his palm on the small of my back. Then Vlad pressed through the door and we sprang apart like a negative charge. Pike’s cheeks were flushed and there was a light sheen of sweat above his upper lip.

“What were you two doing?” Vlad asked without hiding the suspicious disgust from his face.

“Waiting for you. What happened?”

Vlad patted his well-shellacked hair. “We’re going for coffee. Just like he asked.” He pretend-breathed on me. “How’s my breath?”

“You’re disgusting,” I said. “Have fun. And don’t forget, you tell us everything. And really dig, you know? Pry.”

Vlad rolled his eyes. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

He made sure to slam the door when he left.

I waited for a beat, worrying my bottom lip. Finally, I grabbed my keys, straightened my ponytail, and gave Pike the universal sign for “come on, get off my couch.”

“Where are you going?” he wanted to know.

“On a date with my nephew.”

Pike and I were tucked against a back wall at a tiny round coffee table barely big enough for our elbows, let alone our drinks.

“You’re sure you don’t want anything? Coffee? Frap-mocha-liscious or however the hell they bastardized coffee?”

I pursed my lips together and shook my head. “I’m fine, thanks.” I tapped my ever-present travel mug. “I’ve had about all the coffee I could take for the day.”

And it wasn’t a total lie. The blood bad that I had for breakfast had a distinct, burnt coffee flavor. Made my teeth curl just thinking about it.

Pike had his elbows on the table, chin in hand. “What kind of woman comes to a coffeehouse and doesn’t at least order a coffee? Or . . .” He pulled a chipped white plate toward him and snatched the muffin from it, his bite leaving less than half the muffin. “A sweet?”

“The kind of girl who is on a stakeout.” I nudged my chair a half-inch farther away. “Can you try to keep most of that in your mouth?”

Pike shrugged. “I can’t even hear what they’re talking about.”

Vlad and Nicolette were seated half the shop away from us, Nicolette’s light waves falling over the back of her chair while Vlad smiled kindly and nodded, all the while shooting dagger glances at us whenever Nicolette looked away.

“Nicolette is talking about Emerson. She ate a cookie—snickerdoodle, I think—and is now talking about Christmas Eve at her parents’ house. Apparently, Emerson got an Easy-Bake Oven while Nicolette got the Barbie Design Studio.”

Pike leaned back in his chair, clearly impressed. “You can hear that?”

Heat zinged through me and I felt color—whoever’s it was—washing over my cheeks. “I have really, really good hearing. And I read lips. It runs in the family.” I kept my eyes focused on Vlad but I knew that Pike was staring at me. “Interesting.”

A good forty minutes had passed and Nicolette told Vlad about being on the cheerleading squad and her college career. Vlad looked adequately forlorn and heartbroken as he mentioned his “ex-girlfriend” and how he came out to New York to mend his broken heart. I was about to gag, Pike was about to drop dead of boredom, and we were no closer to learning anything about Emerson’s private life.

“Okay, either something happens or I’m going to stab someone through the heart.”

My throat tightened and my blood froze statue-still. “What did you say?”

Pike held up his hands. “Sorry—too soon? Too soon.”

I felt my mouth drop open then slammed it shut again, certain that Pike was talking about stabbing in general—not staking a vampire through the heart.